


You're an Idiot, Jon Snow

by HawkeTheKasbah



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A mention of the lovely Ygritte, But it's more like "oh shit son lemme give you a hug", Don't Judge Me, Eff you eh, He's not breaking his vows if he's GAY, I have an unhealthy love for Jon Snow oops, I really have an unhealthy love for Satin too, I'm trying here, M/M, Shh, Sorry that he's named but, That's my favorite name ever and it works in this universe, Well - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8314048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkeTheKasbah/pseuds/HawkeTheKasbah
Summary: Jon's friends aren't exactly happy with how distant he's been as of late, and one of them finally decides to bring it up to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that he has a name. But... I really like the name. And that's as far as I go regarding descriptions. I hate not being able to imagine my own character. But I just really wanted to keep a name in there.

Aneirin glared into his mug of ale.

“What did the ale ever do to you, to have you glaring at it so?” A voice broke through his thoughts.

Aneirin grunted. “Not bloody strong enough,” he eventually replied.

Pyp nodded his head in agreement. “Ale’s never strong enough, I’m afraid. Damn near tastes like watered down piss, too.”

“Aye, and you’d know what that would taste like, Pyp.”

Pyp gave him a sour look, met with a smirk. Pyp opened his mouth to say something, most likely a sharp retort, and would have too, had it not been for Grenn pushing to sit down in between them.

“’Ello, Pyp, Aneirin,” he grinned, taking a healthy drink of his ale.  


“Hey there, Grenn,” Pyp grinned, seemingly forgetting about his sour mood. “Having a good time already, I see?”

“Aye,” Grenn replied, now starting on his dinner.

Aneirin returned to scowling at his ale, content with simply losing himself in his thoughts, only to be again interrupted by Satin plopping himself down across the table. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to him, who returned it with a small smile.

“What happened to your hand?” Aneirin startled the group by suddenly speaking. When there came no response, Aneirin gestured to Satin’s sloppily bandaged hand and repeated his question. “What happened?”

“Ripped half a fingernail off training in the yard,” he said, “Messed up with the bow, string caught my finger.”

Aneirin scowled. He’d always been protective of Satin as a result of one unfortunate night in Mole Town involving a group of drunk, not too terribly intelligent thugs, a new recruit for the Night’s Watch, lost in the newness and unfamiliar maze of streets that made up the tiny town, and a disinterested Brother waiting for his friends who’d obviously ditched him to go and dig for gold. Satin, having such feminine features, was mistaken for one of the local whores and was being accosted in public, not far from where Aneirin sat, sipping at a mug of ale. One fairly unpleasant scuffle later, Aneirin and Satin sat in the same tavern, Aneirin trying to dull the pain of his two cracked ribs, broken wrist, and black eye with another ale. Luckily, neither of the two got off worst in the fight that had ensued; the others had gotten black eyes, at least one of them had a broken jaw, at least one broken finger, and several broken noses.

“The wildlings are broken, their forces scattered, and their leader captured and waiting execution. I doubt that they will become a threat again immediately,” Aneirin muttered under his breath. He understood why the new Lord Commander had the Night’s Watch constantly training in combat and at work rebuilding what was lost during the battle, but that did not mean that he had to be enthusiastic about it. Not while it ran his friends ragged. He would gripe about it afterwards all that he wanted, but when it came to carrying out Lord Snow’s orders, he would follow them without complaint and without question.

Pyp made a face. “It’s not the work and the training that trouble me. It’s the fact that Lord Snow seems to think that he’s now too high and mighty to eat supper with us.”

This was true. More and more often since his appointment to the rank of Lord Commander, he was absent from the dining hall, choosing to send for his meals and stay up inside his new quarters all day. They all missed their friend, and although they understood why he would be spending less and less time with them, it began to frustrate the group.

“He has a lot to do, Pyp. You know that,” Aneirin replied as he began to unwrap Satin’s bandage. “He’s got Stannis to deal with, and he’s got to deal with all of this nonsense that he’s spewing about this ‘final battle’ and the connection it has with the Others. Stop moving, you,” He added to Satin as he tried to move his hand away when Aneirin took a small bit of rag and started dabbing at his hand. Not only had he lost half a fingernail, he had also managed to cut his hand.

Pyp shrugged. “Don’t mean that he has no time for anything anymore.”

Grenn nodded. “He could at least eat with us. He has time to eat, might as well spend it with us.”

Aneirin said nothing as he bandaged Satin’s hand with a slightly cleaner rag than the bandage had been. Quite honestly, Jon’s absence had irritated him greatly. It was as though Jon no longer had time for the lot of them, now that he was the Lord Commander. Just a meal or an ale every now and then, was that so much to ask for? Apparently.

Aneirin finished his dinner in relative silence, occasionally responding to something that Pyp or Satin said, Grenn heading out for his guard duty shift not long after the conversation had ended. By the time the three had left, there were very few Brothers wondering about the yard, save for the few headed up to the Wall and one of two people attempting to practice their swordsmanship in the pitch darkness of night.

Pyp and Satin both headed off to their respective cells, bidding Aneirin goodbye as they went, leaving him to stare at the Brothers locked in a mock sword fight. He watched for another five minutes, the length of the fight, before turning to leave for his own cell. However, just as he was turning to leave, he caught a glint of the silvery blade known as Longclaw. Jon’s blade. It was Jon who had been one of the Brothers sparring. Aneirin chose instead to follow after the retreating form of Jon.

“Oi, Jon!” he called just as Jon had gotten to the door that led up to his quarters. The noise slightly startled Jon, noticeably tensing up before relaxing when he turned to see his friend’s face.

“Aneirin,” Although Aneirin had known that Jon had been startled by his sudden approach, neither his expression nor his tone conveyed it. “What brings you here?”

Aneirin crossed his arms. “Eating,” he replied in a clipped way, irritation rolling off of him in waves. “With my friends. You know, the people that we’ve fought and nearly been killed with.”

Aneirin knew very well that he was being unfair to Jon, but that did not stop him from feeling a slight twinge of vindictive pleasure to see Jon’s expression morph into one of sheepish guilt, as though he was a child who’d been caught stealing treats from the kitchen.

Aneirin would have continued, even if he didn’t have the right words about him at the moment, if it weren’t for Jon letting out an audible sigh and gesturing for Aneirin to fall him into his quarters, so that they may continue the conversation in private.

“I wasn’t aware that you were eating together tonight,” he said after a moment of heavy silence that lingered in the air.

Aneirin snorted. “Jon, we have dinner together almost every single night. You just wouldn’t know because you’re never there anymore.”

“I am sorry, but you know that I’m busy with—” Jon began, but Aneirin swiftly cut him off.

“You’re busy with your new duties as the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, yes yes Jon, we know. We all know. We just want to be able to spend time with our friend Jon, and not always with Lord Snow,” Aneirin said, sighing. It was difficult for him to stay mad at Jon for long.

“We’re just tired of seeing you only during training sessions, and then disappearing for hours at a time, only to emerge late at night to hack at some practice dummies instead of coming to talk to us.”

It was Jon’s turn to sigh. He knew that he had been seeing less of his friends, and it was grating on his own nerves, but he hadn’t realized how much it had affected his friends as well. He felt incredibly guilty, and it obviously shone in his expression, because Aneirin’s frown deepened.

“Just every now and then, Jon. Just… We are aware that you are not able to spend as much time with us as you used to, but please, Jon. We miss you.” Aneirin paused, looking very uncomfortable. “Me in particular.”

Jon said nothing in reply. Aneirin said nothing, simply turned and made his way towards the door. “Good night, Lord Snow,” he said quietly.

Jon shook his head. “I’ll… see what I can do. Tomorrow.”

Aneirin let a small smile make its way across his face. “Aye. Tomorrow. I’ll hold you to that, Jon Snow.”

As Aneirin shut the door, he grimaced to himself. He was getting far too sappy. He needed to stop trying to act as though anything would happen. Jon still mourned Ygritte, the wildling who had been killed in battle. Jon loved her, and not him.

Aneirin walked back to his cell. Jon was his friend, but would never care for him the way he cared for Jon. And that was fine. He had Jon’s friendship, and that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck.


End file.
